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“I had an interesting writing session this morning,” I said slowly. “My Internet searches might have me on a government watch list.”
“Why on Earth would you need to research open heart surgery or an autopsy while writing a romcom?”
“The same reason I researched squirrel mating patterns, I suppose.”
He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, holding the knife out, and stared at me. His tongue slowly crept out and wet his lips, and there was a shadow of confusion passing through his bright blue gaze. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“There’s not a lot you really can say, to be honest.” I sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Maximillian, what onEarthare you doing brandishing that knife around?” Esme rushed into the kitchen amidst the sound of her bags rustling.
Maximillian.
I grinned. Slowly. Oh. So.Slowly.
I was so going to full name him at some point for something.
He huffed out a breath. “I’m passing her the knife so she can cut potatoes.”
Esme jerked around. “Ellie, dear! I didn’t know you were here.”
“Hi!” I smiled. “Please don’t point the knife at me,” I said to Max. “In fact, just put it down. Right there. On the counter.”
He shook his head and set it down.
I quickly snatched it up and finally turned to Esme. “Sorry. I… don’t really know how to explain all that.”
Max shook his head. “It’s best nobody ever mentions that conversation again.”
I nodded sagely. He wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to explain how I ended up researching autopsies and squirrel mating patterns in the same fifteen minutes.
At least I didn’t have to mention that part of the research was autopsies on squirrels.
I really wasn’t sure how to explainthatlittle nugget.
Don’t ask me how that fit into my book. It just did, all right?
Although, you know, if anyone would understand it, I’d bet it would be Esme.
“Am I interrupting?” she asked. “I was going to cook dinner, but I’ll go home and make something if I’m intruding.”
Max shook his head. “You’re not intruding, Grandma.”
She looked at me.
I smiled. “You’re fine. You’re welcome to join us.”
“Oh. I thought I might have walked in on a date.”
Both Max and I looked at each other.
Was this a date?
No.
We didn’t have dates. Not really, anyway. Nothing defined. Nothing we ever sort of… laid out… as a date.
If something was a date, it implied we were, you know.Dating. And we weren’t. Not at all. Not even a little bit.
